Chapter 4
The upper level of the gallery had been transformed.
White wooden chairs aligned in two neat sections flanked a simple white runner.
Blush roses and white organza draped an arch at one end.
At the other, sunlight poured through the tall windows, the Atlantic flashing white and blue beyond the glass.
Elegant yet unassuming, exactly what he’d expect of the bride.
The space hummed, not with music yet, but with anticipation. The guests—friends, fellow club members, and coworkers—had looked forward to this union for months. Two people who had been to hell and back to find one another.
Rhys sat near the back, posture relaxed enough to pass for casual, except every muscle was disciplined into rigid control.
A hush fell when Cari appeared in a sweep of golden sunlight, her classic white gown flowing around her. She held a simple bouquet of white and blush roses in one hand; the other rested on the arm of her cousin Carlo, her only family in Florida.
Rhys’s attention drifted to the groom.
Nick Devlin wasn’t one to beam, but today, he came close as his bride approached. His gaze never once strayed. Not to the guests or to scan the shadows for possible threats. All he saw was her.
When Cari reached him and put her hands in his, he was a man who knew exactly what and who stood before him. His expression said everything: love, joy, possession without apology.
Rhys wouldn’t have been surprised if his friend proclaimed… Mine.
The officiant began, the ceremony unfolding with a simple sincerity that suited them. There was no spectacle or fluff. Just a man and a woman building a new life from the ashes, together.
When Dev spoke his vows, the weight of them settled over the room.
“I love you, Carina Brooklyn Denali, and promise to do so fiercely until I’m old and gray. I’ll lead when you ask it, and protect what’s entrusted to me. Your trust is a gift I will earn every day.”
Rhys recognized the structure beneath the words—choice, not control. Dev was pledging strength with respect. Power held, not imposed.
Cari’s vows followed, strong and steady.
“I love you, Nickolai Devlin. More than I ever thought possible. For half my life, you’ve proven you’ll love and cherish me and move mountains to keep me safe.
I choose you and will follow because I know you will never lead me astray.
I give my trust freely—until death, which I pray is when we’re old—gray optional. ”
Caramel, honey-blonde, or scarlet, Cari was known to change things up, and her humor sparked a ripple of soft laughter.
Beneath the humor, she wasn’t describing submission.
She was describing agency—offering herself without fear.
A kind of self-possession men who demanded control could never comprehend.
A dull ache filled Rhys’s chest. Envy, yes, but with a sharper edge beneath it. He refused to examine that edge. Not now, if ever.
A glint of pale blue caught his eye—soft, unexpected, pulling his attention before he could stop it.
Gaby sat three rows ahead with Emily and Alec. She wasn’t dressed to dazzle. She never was. Her dress skimmed rather than clung. Hair pinned up, a few rebellious curls escaping.
A single tear traced down her cheek. One quiet line of emotion she didn’t bother wiping away.
It struck him harder than it should have. She was happy for their friends—he knew that. But her face revealed her longing. For possibility, maybe. Or did she hunger for something safe and real, like him?
Rhys felt the pull as a physical thing.
She glanced up then turned her head—toward him.
As their eyes locked, there was no accusation. No plea. Just a soft, devastating look holding both want and resignation. A silent message he read with brutal clarity:
I heard you. I got the message. I won’t ask for more.
She looked away first, disengaging, and the bottom dropped out of his composure because a sudden, unwelcome awareness hit him. He might have made a mistake he couldn’t easily undo.
The ceremony concluded with a kiss. Dev and Cari, radiant and grounded.
A thought slipped past Rhys’s defenses—sudden and unwelcome.
What if this time walking away was the real danger?
***
Gaby lingered at the edge of the gallery-turned-reception hall, fingers curled around a champagne flute she hadn’t touched.
Emily’s catering crew had moved with their usual magic—drapes lifted, chairs whisked away, clusters of round tables shimmered with crystal and pale blooms—and transitioned the ceremony space into a glowing reception hall.
The toasts had begun. Simone first, elegant and heartfelt, followed by Braeden, who blended humor and sincerity with enviable ease. The crowd laughed in the right places, sighed in the tender ones.
Gaby couldn’t manage either.
Joy was everywhere, warm and infectious. And she wanted to leave.
Not because she wasn’t happy for Dev and Cari. She was—deeply. But standing here in all this golden celebration felt like pressing on a bruise she couldn’t hide anymore.
“Thinking about sneaking out?” Emily asked beside her.
Gaby didn’t deny it. “I’m just not in the mood to celebrate.”
“Of course. Natalie must consume your thoughts.” Emily followed her gaze toward Dev and Cari. “And days like this hit different when you’re in the middle of… whatever it is you and Rhys are in.”
“There is no ‘me and Rhys,’” Gaby said quickly. Too quickly.
“And I’m a circus acrobat,” Emily deadpanned. “Tell yourself whatever gets you through the day. Just maybe don’t stand too close to the drapes—there’s enough heat between you two to set them on fire.”
Gaby exhaled. “Em, please.”
“Fine.” Emily bumped her shoulder gently. “But take one piece of advice from someone who wasted eight years telling herself she didn’t need the man standing right in front of her.” She nodded toward Alec across the room. “Life is too damn short to pretend you don’t want what you want.”
Before Gaby could respond, one of the catering staff signaled Emily.
Her friend sighed. “Duty calls. But Gaby?”
She looked up.
Emily’s expression softened. “Don’t walk away from something unless you’re absolutely sure it isn’t yours.”
She squeezed her hand and headed off.
Gaby watched her go, throat tight. Their situations weren’t the same—Alec had always wanted Emily. Rhys… well. He’d made it clear he didn’t.
She was setting her untouched champagne on a nearby table when a warm baritone cut in beside her.
“I’ve heard it’s bad luck not to take at least a sip during the wedding toast.”
She turned to a tall man: dark hair, broad shoulders, a navy suit cut to ruthless perfection, and handsome as sin.
Gaby offered a small smile. “You’re Cari’s cousin. We haven’t officially met, but I’ve heard the stories.”
“Guilty as charged, but the appeal is pending.”
She blinked, startled.
He flashed a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Bad joke outside the family.” He offered his hand. “Carlo Mancuso.”
She took it and felt instantly enveloped in warmth and strength. “Gaby Flores. Did you really chase Cari cross-country for three years?”
“It’s true, sadly, which doesn’t speak well of my fugitive recovery skills, but in my defense, Dev never caught up with her either.”
“You’re a bounty hunter, then?”
“For Devlin and Associates, which makes us colleagues.”
“Why have we never met?”
“I’m on the road a lot and work mainly out of the Jacksonville office. Same team, same cause, just different doors to kick in.”
That drew a genuine smile from her. “Good to know.”
Carlo’s eyes tracked briefly across the room then returned to her, one brow rising. “Speaking of knowing things… Any reason Rhys Langston looks like he’s grinding his molars into dust?”
Gaby stiffened. She followed his line of sight. Rhys stood near a column, hands in his pockets, posture deceptively relaxed, jaw anything but. The muscle there ticked as his stare locked on her and Carlo with an intensity that made heat crawl up her neck.
Why? What had she done this time? Or was her presence in the same social setting too much for him?
She dragged her attention away. “I’m sure it means nothing.”
“Uh-huh.” Carlo didn’t even pretend to buy it.
She didn’t have to deny it further because the band chose that moment to play a slow, melodic intro. Dev and Cari stepped onto the floor. Instead of a private first dance, they turned to the crowd. “Join us,” he called, smiling in a way Gaby had never seen from him before.
A wave of movement swept the room as couples drifted toward the center.
Carlo extended a hand again, this time in invitation. “Since the bride and groom insist… dance with me?”
A dozen reasons to refuse came to mind instantly. But if she was going to move forward, she had to take the first step. And she refused—absolutely refused—to become like Ashlynn at the club, angling for scraps of attention that would never come.
“One dance. Zero pressure,” Carlo said, tone easy but eyes keen with understanding. “Think of it as a test. Proof to yourself, or possibly to him, that it really does mean nothing. And the best part? You don’t have to worry about tripping over me at work tomorrow.”
She huffed a soft laugh despite herself. “Are you a mind reader, too?”
“No,” Carlo said warmly. “You just have a very expressive face.”
Drat. That again.
She drew in a slow, quiet breath and placed her hand in his. “One dance. No tripping.”
Carlo’s answering grin was pure Brooklyn mischief. “Deal.”
As he led her onto the floor, she focused ahead, avoiding the intense, inscrutable man across the room.
***
Rhys watched Gaby and Carlo move together, easy and natural, in a way that scraped along every raw edge he’d tried to ignore.
Mancuso’s hand rested at her waist, fingers drifting lower.
He hadn’t crossed the line to inappropriate but was close enough that Rhys’s palms itched with the urge to intervene.
“You look like you’re two seconds from committing a felony. Try some champagne instead.”
He took the glass Alec held out but didn’t drink. His attention stayed locked on the dance floor, on Carlo turning on his Italian charm and Gaby rewarding him with a smile. A real one. A gift she rarely gave anyone. One Rhys had never earned. Envy twisted like a knife in his gut.
Alec followed his gaze, brows lifting. “They look good together. Maybe she’s moving on.”
“Not with him. He’s going back to Jacksonville in the morning.” Rhys felt Alec’s stare before he saw it.
“How’d you know that?”
He didn’t answer, unwilling to admit he’d asked Greta about Mancuso’s schedule.
His silence was answer enough. Alec snorted. “I thought you two were done.”
“We are.”
“Then why do I fear for Emily’s stemware? Ease off, bud. It’s crystal.”
Rhys forced his grip to loosen. He also tore his attention from Gaby long enough to meet his friend’s gaze. “Drop it.”
“Like you did with me?” Alec angled toward him. “You act like restraint is a virtue. At the club, sure. But, in relationships, it can leave you cold.”
Rhys’s jaw flexed. “I’m not discussing this.”
“You don’t have to. I’m going to tell you one thing before I go dance with my bride-to-be. You either want her, or you don’t.”
He didn’t respond.
Alec continued anyway. “But you can’t keep her at arm’s length and act surprised, or like you want to snap someone’s neck, when she starts drifting.”
He tried again, gritting out, “This isn’t the time.”
“This is exactly the time.” Alec’s voice stayed calm, level. “Look at her.”
He did just as Carlo dipped her, Gaby’s curls drifting toward the floor, her laugh barely audible over the music. She looked lighter, set free, as if the weight on her shoulders had lifted, if only for a minute. His gut tightened. What if that smile and her laughter were meant for him?
“Claim her,” Alec urged. “Or let her go. But stop standing here pretending indifference when your face is shouting otherwise.”
Rhys didn’t trust his voice.
Alec delivered one last bit of truth. “I let something good slip through my hands once. Took me eight damn years to get her back. Decide soon, brother. Before she makes the call for you.”
He clapped Rhys’s shoulder once and walked off, heading back to Emily.
Rhys stayed where he was, champagne untouched, music pulsing, candlelight flickering. Realization hit him hard. Whatever he was feeling, it sure as hell wasn’t indifference, no matter what he told himself.
He didn’t know how long he stood there staring into his glass, but the bubbles had mostly dissipated when a swell of applause drew his focus to the front of the room. Dev and Cari stood before a three-tiered cake dotted with roses.
Cari’s laugh carried across the room as Dev guided her hand to cut the first slice. Then she fed him a small bite with her fingers. No chaos. No smashing. Just a quiet, intimate ritual meant for them.
Dev fed her next. Also taking care. With a wicked smile that was all Devil, he leaned in and licked a trace of icing from her lips. The kiss that followed was unhurried, smoldering, and indecent in the best possible way.
The room erupted with cheers and laughter.
Rhys didn’t smile, already searching, instinctively, for Gaby.
Carlo had drifted to a corner, animatedly talking with Mateo and Leland. None of them seemed to notice anything missing.
But Rhys did. She was gone.
The realization hit with quiet, devastating precision.
Alec’s words echoed: Decide soon—before she makes the call for you.
Rhys upended his glass and drained it. Then, with the inevitability of a man who’d run out of excuses, he walked toward the exit.
Not fast. Not dramatic. But with the grim, tightening certainty that whatever direction he moved next might determine everything.